


Universal Greeting

by sugargroupie



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character of Color, Crossover, F/M, Ficlet, Het, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-22
Updated: 2006-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugargroupie/pseuds/sugargroupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her gaze is a cold stare down the barrel of her gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Universal Greeting

**Author's Note:**

> BSG/SGA crossover set in the distant future, where all my crackfics go to die. Spell-checked, no beta. Specific spoilers for _Lay Down Your Burdens, Part 2_.

Her gaze is a cold stare down the barrel of her gun, an incongruous mixture of honey and glass that's as well-placed as the tight fitting uniform she wears.

She sticks out on this planet with her precise military bearing, but she has Ronon at a disadvantage right now, so maybe he's the alien.

He's reminded of Satedan females — of brown bodies in fluid motion; of smooth skin sliding against his, smelling of rain and their unique scents.

She smells otherworldly, and of home.

He moves into her space and pushes her gun down with one hand, bringing the other to slide around the back of her neck. Head tilt, and her face is so young just now. Too much experience in her eyes, which he understands more than he can ever say, so he lowers his mouth to hers instead.

Not expecting such a harsh kiss from her soft lips, but he welcomes the pressure of her fingers in his locks as she guides the kiss, controls it like this was her idea all along.

Ronon feels himself being maneuvered backwards until he hits the bed, and she's the smallest thing in his arms as she straddles his lap. Her body reminds him of a weapon. A knife, all sharp edges and beauty, and she doesn't want to be treated delicately. _Shouldn't_, her eyes say, otherwise she wouldn't be here.

She loosens her hair and it falls in thick waves around her shoulders. He grabs a fistful and tightens his fingers so it stings, brings her up short, and she deepens the kiss; breaks it on a moan.

He strips out of his mesh tunic and watches her perfunctory movements of unbuttoning her uniform, tracking her as she folds it up and lays it aside. Ronon grins when she drags his leathers down his hips, stopping deliberately when his dick springs free. He manages to push them down enough so they won't chafe, and circles his fingers loosely around her wrist as she kneels over him.

Her tongue is warm on the seam of his lips, and she parts his mouth with teasing strokes before delving inside. A groan works loose from his throat when their lower bodies connect, wet against dry, until he's arching off the bed to follow her retreat.

His voice is gravelly to his own ears as he asks, "What's your name?"

And he needs to ask, because they've already said hello. This is goodbye.

"Lieutenant," she gasps and wriggles her hips, taking him inside. "Dualla."

He doesn't bother asking if she's from Earth, but swallows past the dry memory. He murmurs against the hollow of her throat, "You want me to call you Lieutenant?" Allows a bit of humor to bleed through.

"Dee," she says, and her smile is wicked. "Just call me Dee."

##


End file.
